


Coming Clean

by peacocktails



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Other, Repressed Luke, Woobie Luke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 02:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13354395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacocktails/pseuds/peacocktails
Summary: Luke just wants some time alone. That's all he wants. Is that too much to ask?(Fills - mostly - a tfa_kink prompt on Dreamwidth: https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/5817.html?view=11958969&posted=1#cmt11958969.)(In which Luke is a very sad grown-up   ̶p̶a̶n̶d̶a̶w̶a̶n̶ padawan.)





	Coming Clean

Doubtless, Rey the infernally curious would notice it in the laundry, or else Rey the infernally Jedi-trusting would ask why he was getting up so early to wash just one small bedside towel.  
  
He supposed he could go out down to the rocks and the shore, find something to hide in, and then wash it out. But then he'd have to take a torch. The cold was already exhausting, and his solarblanket was already running out of charge. He'd never liked the sight of the sea at night. Actually, it was the first thing he'd seen upon arriving on Ahch-To - so that the first thing he'd had to tell the Lanai was that he'd never seen a sea up close before (to explain his sudden mild vertigo). They responded, of course, with the usual craven reverence, but he could tell their first instinct was to express some kind of mirth. He still wasn't sure what that looked like (to his disappointment).  
  
Really, he'd rather just go to sleep. A pity that his pride was telling him he had to learn - to _deprogram_ himself - not to feel ashamed when desire nagged him like this. Maybe he could get up and grab a leaf from outside, or something like that.  
  
And risk those bugs. He'd already had to warn Rey about them.  
  
So he resigned himself to the first idea he'd had. He'd never done it before, he thought as he undid the cotton belt of his nightclothes, but it would be okay. How long it had been - he closed his eyes as he slid his hand down - he wasn't sure. But, he could be gentle with himself now, he told himself as he stroked. He didn't have to replay the kind of rough, furtive self-treatments of the Temple days, when privacy - and a reasonable attitude towards basic human drives - was a scarce commodity. Hopefully, circulation wouldn't be an issue.  
  
It was.  
  
Which was mystifying, considering all that running around involved in the survival business.  
  
_Okay, then_ , he thought at that stupid, mocking tree. He lay on his back and took himself in a more vice-like grip, and began to squeeze, to the point of mild pain. _You win. Are you happy?_  
  
The reliable warmth emerged as he began more or less to abuse himself, so that he wouldn't have to shut his eyes so tight. He opened them.  
  
Two large, bowl-like black orbs were staring down at him from a stone nook in the roof.  
  
" _You again_."  
  
Just lovely.  
  
" _Aaaaaaaa_ rhk."  
  
Of course, he'd have to get it out - on the off chance (the _very off_ chance) that the horrifying things had a modicum of sapience.  
  
He inched carefully out from under his solarblanket, trying to preserve as much of the trapped heat as possible. Then he dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, lest the creature spook, and attack, and wake up Rey. He crawled over to the door, against the frame of which leaned an old quarterstaff that he'd taken from the ancient Temple, some years ago, for just this purpose.

Taking it, he rose to his knees in the centre of the hut, and reached up and tapped at the stones around the porg's roost.

It didn't budge. Briefly he imagined creating a soft vice around its stomach - or maybe its neck - and lifting it down that way.

Not the most auspicious way to end his self-imposed exile from the Force. No.

The porg, apparently taking pity, hopped-slid down the wall and onto the floor.

"Got you," murmured Luke, crouching down to wave the staff towards the little home invader. Getting to his feet, he slid the battered X-wing panel door to the hut out of the way. "Come on," he coaxed, scraping the staff towards the porg, "come on."

Webbed feet planted at the open doorway, it looked out with an imploring open mouth into the drizzling night sky. Luke, pausing, watched, and considered whether it would go peacefully. Then it waved its flippers - revealing an emaciated frame.

He rolled his eyes.

Bending down he extracted his spare thermalpack from the little metal box on the floor beside his bed, and snapped it over his knee to set it heating. Upon retying his belt, he picked up the porg with one hand around its abdomen, and set out with it towards one of the huts that seemed a safe distance away. In the moons-light he found a little gap in the stones near the base of the hut: a bit closer to the damp grass than the porg would like, but large enough for the thermalpack to slide in comfortably. The porg shivered as it waddled in.  
  
"Master Skywalker?"  
  
He flinched - lucky there wasn't any kind of ledge above his head - and glanced downwards to verify that he was actually decent, before turning to Rey, left hand on his thudding chest. "Oh, hello."  
  
"What are you doing up?" She smiled down with curious eyes. "Is that a porg?"  
  
He nodded. "Just kind of a rough time getting to sleep. Why - what are you doing?"  
  
"I have the same problem," she lied, because she hadn't even changed out of her armwraps. "Though for reasons I'd rather not talk about right now." Well, at least it had a sop to the truth. She cocked her head down to examine the thermalpack and the nook. "You're rescuing it, aren't you?"  
  
Oh, dear. "It's not what it looks like," he said, as he made a little wall around the porg's nook with stray grass and leaves, brushed off his trousers, and stood up. He gave her a terse smile that said he'd find out what she was hiding, yet. It seemed to work - she nodded, and mumbled something about going go back to bed.  
  
Back in the doorway, he shook the drizzle off his hair and beard, and fixed the panel-door back into place. Kicking off his shoes, he crawled back under the covers and sunk back into the mattress.  
  
He exhaled deep and thorough, trying to relax his muscles and concentrate on his body, and to concentrate especially the feelings and the flow of blood around and between his legs. There didn't really seem to be much going on down there, but it was worth a try. He reached down to hold himself, his foreskin, in his fingers. It was - pleasant, enough, and -  
  
A knock on the metal door. "Ah -" sitting up and crossing his legs, he bunched up the blanket over his lap to hide his growing shame - "Come in?" He gritted his teeth and inwardly swore.  
  
The door shifted, and Rey's head popped inside. "Sorry to bother you."  
  
"Hrm?"  
  
"Erm." She glanced down at his crumpled blanket. Back up. Back down and up. "I meant to say that I didn't mean to seem guarded. Please do ask me about anything you think is important to know."  
  
"Sure," he nodded, with a forced smile. "Sure - I'll keep that in mind."  
  
"Alright," she nodded with closed eyes. "Thank you." The door scraped back into place, and she was gone again.  
  
When he grasped himself, again, an unkind intruding thought blocked most feeling: she might have suspected it, if not outright inferred. A twinging embarrassment and shame moved through him. He suppressed it - any strength of feeling might alert Master Yoda and Master Kenobi to start watching him.  
  
No reason to feel this way, he told himself. He'd accidentally caught more than a few padawans in his time, and even had to warn the very youngest to be more discreet. He'd tried his best, each time, to convey that he wasn't bothered. They'd always taken it as crushing, but things just shouldn't have to be that way, now.  
  
It would be nice if telling yourself things made them true.  
  
He aimlessly continued to stroke. He'd disillusioned Rey, maybe. Maybe she'd finally be forced to confront the fact that he was polluted; dirty; human, too. Not a very nice idea. Not very much fun, for her.  
  
This idea floated in his mind, of Rey feeling - _what_ , at him? Disgusted; disappointed? His heartbeat quickened. He figured it was kind of mean - a shame - to enjoy the idea of Rey feeling that way. Still, he concentrated again on that feeling of shame, and the feeling of having transgressed. It was curious. It tickled him.  
  
It didn't seem to be enough on its own, however, so he took himself in that familiar squeezing, unkind grip, again, and with his foreskin in his cold, sharp other fingers he began to pump. Rey would be in bed herself, now, wouldn't she? Unless she really did have something terrible to hide.  
  
He stopped. Was there no way to hide right now, from his Masters, without bringing himself back into the Force? He checked - sometimes there was a blind spot.  
  
There wasn't, and to his surprise the verification of his helplessness against their surveillance came as a disgustingly comforting wave over his now-tumescent genitals; a feeling like a cocoon or an oasis. His breathing deepened, and he felt his cheeks flush. He didn't _want_ them to be watching, but they could be; they could be..  
  
So, Rey wanted to be taught how to control people and see minds, did she? How to be just like him. He laughed a small _hff_ through his nose as he squeezed his shaft in thumb and forefingers, so that his fingernails pricked. So eager to throw her life away for the chance to be someone special. He pumped faster. Didn't she realise that someday, if things went as she begged him to make them go, he'd be able to watch her, too? He wondered, too, how she'd respond if someone actually told her about that eventuality, as he felt the viscosity of pre-come on his fingers, and saw in his mind's eye the embarrassment on her face and cheeks, mixed in with his own. He savoured the ache of it. Sitting up, he cupped himself in his hand. It would be over, of course, all too soon. He watched his chest and breath rise deep, in and out.  
  
He came unexpectedly - always unexpectedly - but, at least, didn't make a mess. So, he brought his dirtied, cupped hand to his mouth, covered his beard with his other hand, and - as intended - cleaned himself. His nose wrinkled at the taste. When he was satisfied that his right hand was now beyond suspicion, he reached for the flask of water beside his bed and took a drink, swilling before he swallowed. Then, lying down, he turned to plump his pillow, shifted on the mattress until he was moderately comfortable, and allowed himself to fall asleep.


End file.
